CHAPTER NINETEEN “1,2,3,4” #2
“It’s cool, babe, just drink.”
Babe.
I hid my elation as I chugged the beer like a frat whore.
“Easy,” he said as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Such a lady,” he snickered. His eyes went soft as he looked me over.
“Fuck this day,” I said with finality. And I meant it. I would never know if he offered to let me stay out of pity or because he truly did care and he wanted me there, but I chose the latter. I had no choice. Adulthood sucked and beer was good.
I took my last ten dollars and set it on the bar to help pay for the beer we couldn’t afford, but Reid picked it up and walked over to the jukebox.
“HEY!” I said desperately. “HEY!” I said, jumping up and following him over just as the machine ate my money.
I couldn’t help it. I double tapped his forehead. “Cabron!”
He gave me a warning look before he spoke. “Today, you’re in my hands, so don’t worry about it. Now, woman, this happens to be the best fucking jukebox in Austin. Choose wisely. You will be judged.”
“Oh, it is so on,” I said as I flipped through the sleeves.
“For every song I approve of, you get a beer.”
“It’s like that, huh?” I said to his retreating back. “This is where I shine, Crowne!”
I had six songs to choose. I scrolled through and pressed the selections in seconds like the pro I was.
I sat down just as the harmonica sounded on “When the Levee Breaks” by Led Zeppelin.
Reid nodded at Jon, and I was awarded my first beer. I gave him a confident smirk.
“I am so about to school you,” I said as I happily drank down the cold suds. Spirits lifted, I began to twist a little in my seat. Reid ran a hand through his hair, his three-day-old five o’clock shadow covering a glimpse of his dimple. I hated that.
“So, you moved here how long ago?”
“When I was eighteen.”
“And how old are you now?” I asked, embarrassed I hadn’t bothered to ask the man I was sleeping with nightly how old he was. I just assumed he was Paige’s age.
“Twenty-five,” he said as he took a sip of his beer.
“Huh,” I said, scrutinizing him. “When were you born?”
“The same day you were,” he said.
I opened my mouth and then closed it. “What?” He’d babysat me on his birthday. Suddenly, I felt like the biggest shit in the turd pool.
“Don’t. I hate birthdays. I’ve been lying to your sister for two years, telling her it was on Christmas. I always tell her I’m going home and never do just to avoid cake and bullshit.”
“Wow,” I said, peeling at the top of my beer as Foo Fighters’ “Walking After You” drifted through the speakers. I was awarded another beer.
“Thought you wouldn’t like this one,” I said with a shit-eating grin.
“It’s kind of soft—oh, and because you look like Dave Grohl.
But, now that I take a closer look,” I said, pressing my forehead to his, “you look like a grumpier version. Like a dude who hates birthdays and girls screaming for him.”
“Wrong,” he said, lifting his beer, “like the song, and I love the girls screaming for me.”
I took the shot Jon offered us with a silent toast between the three of us and downed it as a good excuse to hide the little burn that stuck in my throat.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“What’s what like?”
“Playing?”
He looked at me with drawn brows.
“Do you get high from it?”
“Yeah,” he said softly as he twisted in his seat. “When the crowd reacts, and it’s that perfect song, it can get pretty intense. Adrenaline peaks over and over, and when the show ends, you’re just completely spent.”
“Sounds like sex,” I said as I nudged his shoulder.
“It’s close, but different.”
“God, I’m so jealous. I tried. I wanted to be like Sean Yseult.”
“Who?” he asked.
“The bass player for White Zombie.”
“Oh, yeah, she was the shit.”
“Still is, read up, buddy. They’ve been around since I was born.” I had his attention. “I know they only got recognized in the late nineties, but they worked at it for ten years. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Oh, hell,” he said with a glance at Jon. “Another pep talk.”
“No, I’ll stop,” I said. “Okay, but do you know who got the biggest break in rock ’n’ roll?”
He leaned in, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.
It was his first public display—aside from his show for Dylan—and it stunned me in my seat to the point I almost forgot my train of thought.
Almost. “All of them. Every band you can think of with radio play. They all have a story. All of them.” I pointed toward the front door.
“And these bands that come marching through every night will have one, too. Some of them won’t be as great as others, but that’s what I’m here for.
” I pointed my beer in his direction. “To cover the great ones.”
If Reid personified a look, it would be sex and skepticism. “If you can’t play bass like a badass, you write about one?”
“Yes, you do, especially if she’s as overlooked at Sean Yseult.”
“She’s not overlooked.”
“You didn’t know her name,” I reminded.
“Point taken,” he said as we tapped beers.
Bob Marley and the Wailers’ “Redemption Song” came on, and Jon twisted off another beer without so much as a look in Reid’s direction. I happily added it to my growing pile.
“Juanita, get your ass over here!” Reid sounded from the bar as he watched me shake my ass to Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “Pride and Joy”.
Loving the appreciation in his eyes as he studied the zigzag pattern of my arms over my head and the double tap of my hips to the bass, I ignored his order and let the booze and steel guitar guide my body.
A small group of people had gathered at a table on the edge of the floor next to the jukebox while I pranced around like the shameless twenty-year-old I was.
I yelled out to Reid, who watched me with intent eyes from where he sat.
“My mother said when you’re happy you should dance! And when you’re pissed you should dance! And when you drink too much tequila you should dance . . . while you cry.”
The table next to me cheered as they passed me a fresh shot.
Welcoming the burn with a salute of thanks, I downed the golden liquid before I shimmied up to the sexiest man in that bar.
“Hey,” I said as I took a seat next to him, covered in sweat, and leaned over.
“Thanks for this. I’m pretty sure I’ll want to reenact a porno when we get back to your house, so you’ll be repaid. ”
Reid threw his head back on a full belly laugh, and so did Jon, who had heard me. I blushed as much as the alcohol would allow and grabbed Reid’s pale hand. He looked over at me. “Thank you. For today.”
“It’s the least I can do.” His features twisted with concern. “You okay?”
“Buzzing, but not bad. I ate six bags of peanuts,” I said reassuringly.
“I better get some food in you,” Reid said as he saluted Jon and stood.
I reached over the bar and grabbed Quiet Jon’s T-shirt and planted one right on his lips in thanks.
He’d grown on me. As if he was expecting it, he gripped me by the arms and pulled me over the bar, my sneakers plowing through two empty bottles, and gave it to me just as good as I got.
I shrieked in surprise as he laid it on me like a man possessed, but kept his tongue out of it.
“You motherfucker,” Reid said, with an equal amount of bark and humor. “You’re going to pay for that!”
Jon pulled away with a fresh coat of my peppermint lip gloss glistening on his lips, guiltless. “Worth it, dude. Fucking worth it.”
“Awww, baby,” I said with my hands on my hips. “Don’t be jealous, we can skip the burrito and go get naked.”
In the shower later, Reid was doing his best to keep me upright and quiet.
“God, you really don’t know when to shut up. I think it’s about time you ate some soap, Estella Emerson.”
“That’s Estella Rosa Maria Emerson,” I said as I puffed out my chest with my hands on my hips, still a little uneasy on my feet from the booze.
“Seriously? That’s your name?” he said as he gripped my head and pushed the soap toward my mouth.
“Yes,” I said, grabbing his balls. “You get that in my mouth, I take this off.”
He dropped the soap, grabbed my hand, and slid it up and around his ready dick. “How about we work on getting this in your mouth?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“If you’re not any good at it, I understand,” he chided with a shrug.
“How about you kiss my ass? Blowjobs are a privilege you have to earn. These lips are pure gold, baby. Completely innocent. I’m saving that act for a worthy man.”
“Oh, shit,” he said with a sly grin, “challenge accepted.”
“Don’t get your hopes ups. My high school boyfriend still has blue balls.”
“Really?” Reid said as he brushed my lips with his fingers. “And your virginity wasn’t sacred?”
I sighed. “It was supposed to be. Gave it to the wrong guy. I know that’s a shitty second, but it’s all I have.”
“Damn, this is going to make me a pervert. Now it’ll be all I think about.”
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said as he lathered me up from my toes then turned his back after he handed me the washcloth.
“The hell it’s not,” he said with sincerity that had me laughing. “I’m taking this very seriously, Estella Rosa Maria Emerson.”
“Well, calling me by my full name is definitely not going to get you there. My mother did it daily to remind me how serious she was. And now I can’t even look at you naked,” I said, shielding my face from him. “It’s echoing in my head like a broken record now. Great.”
Reid chuckled and leaned into the shitty excuse for a showerhead, his lips on my ear, and rubbed himself across my back as he slid his hand down my stomach.
I lost my breath. My heart pounded as he reminded me exactly who I was in the shower with.
“Reid,” I said breathlessly as I leaned into his seductive touch.
“Yeah?”
“Reid,” I gasped.
“What, Stella?” he whispered as his middle finger danced along my clit before he dipped it low.
“She’s going to forgive us, right?” He pulled away from me and I turned to face him.
He looked gorgeous, his dark hair pushed back from his face, soaked and inked, his defined muscles shedding water. “I don’t know.”
“Sorry, I . . . sorry,” I said, my eyes watering. “But what if she doesn’t forgive you?”
He pressed me into the stall, his hands at work, and doing their job well. “You can keep asking, Stella, but I don’t know the answer.”
“Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up.”
“’Bout time,” he said as he cut off my retort with his hungry tongue.